


Survival Instinct

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Memori angst, Memori mentions, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, implied Bellarke feelings, this is not a feel good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 22:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: The sunset was a deeper red than she remembered, as if Praimfaya had reached out into space and curled its fiery fingers around the sun itself. Clarke shivered despite herself and realized that it was cold. The sun was going down and she was alone on a radiation-soaked planet. Alone and alive.“Murphy.” The name left her lips involuntarily. And then she was running away from the lab before her brain caught up. If the nightblood worked and she survived, Murphy survived too.Not alone.//Chopped 100 Fanfic Challenge Round 1 Awards:2nd Place Overall, 2nd Place Sunsets Trope, 2nd Place (Tied) A Dichotomy Trope, 3rd Place Best Platonic Relationship WinnerThank you so much to everyone who read and voted!





	Survival Instinct

Clarke dreamt of death. Of fear, hatred, and pain shining in the Grounder girl’s eyes as she spasmed in the glass chamber. Black blood boiling up from Emori’s throat, muffling her final scream.

In her fitful waking, Clarke could only curl into a tighter ball. The burns sent hot blades of pain through her body with every movement. It was all she could do to keep breathing shallow breaths of radiation soaked air.

Her next dream was of Murphy, face contorted with pure rage. His hands grasping for her throat after he launched himself at her with animalistic strength. Murphy collapsing under the sharp blow of Miller’s rifle butt. Murphy strapped to the table, veins flowing with nightblood, while Raven cried silently behind her.

The sharp prick of the needle in her arm. “We’re testing me.”

A pile of broken glass and mangled metal as Abby sank to the floor shakily, tears flowing down her blotchy cheeks. The Rover packed with equipment and ready to go. Murphy in restraints sneering at them all.

“I’m not going. None of us deserve to live anymore.”

Clarke woke again, gasping for air. It was thin and stale in her little pocket of the collapsed lab. Her pack was miraculously still tied to her back. She could even flex her muscles without debilitating pain.

Slowly, she crawled forward. If Praimfaya couldn’t kill her, a collapsed lab would be nothing.

Clarke tried to summon a memory of Bellamy’s face as she dragged herself through the broken cement. An image of Raven turning the air back on in the ring. Of Harper helping Monty set up the algae farm. Echo staring slack jawed out the window at her first view of earth from space. Imagined herself surviving for them.

It might have been hours or it might have been days by the time she wormed her way back to the surface level. Dingy light shone through the gaps in the wreckage and Clarke crawled towards it on shaky limbs. She pushed her way through the last few fallen bricks and shook the gravel from her hair as she stretched up to her full height.

The sunset was a deeper red than she remembered, as if Praimfaya had reached out into space and curled its fiery fingers around the sun itself. Clarke shivered despite herself and realized that it was cold. The sun was going down and she was alone on a radiation-soaked planet. Alone and alive.

“Murphy.” The name left her lips involuntarily. And then she was running away from the lab before her brain caught up. If the nightblood worked and she survived, Murphy survived too.

Not alone.

* * *

The lighthouse bunker was predictably in ruins, but Clarke determinedly sifted through the rubble. Murphy stayed behind, but she would bet anything that his instinct drove him to shelter and safety anyways. Just like her.

She dug her way through to a steel door, still locked and sealed and pounded her fists on it.

“Murphy!” she yelled, voice rough and raw. Still-open sores on her skin began to bleed with the force of her knocking. “Murphy!”

A little voice in the back of her head told her that he wasn’t there. She shoved it down and screamed his name with a desperation she didn’t quite recognize.

“Murphy!”

The sun showed only a sliver of light as she finally slid to her seat in the ash and stared at the bloody smears on the door. The dampness on her cheeks could have been sweat or tears and she couldn’t spare the brain power to tell which one it was.

“Murphy, I don’t want you to die,” she whispered hoarsely.

She scooted closer to the door and leaned her forehead on it gently. “I don’t want you to die,” she repeated firmly.

The only sound was the harsh whistling of the wind across the empty sea bed.

Clarke sighed and closed her eyes.

“We’re alone now. And I think… I think we need each other. Even after everything, we survived. And now we need to keep surviving together. That has to mean something.”

Emori’s eyes flashed in her vision and tears started dripping faster down her cheeks. “After everyone we lost, shouldn’t we keep going? Isn’t that worth something?”

The door shifted inward. Clarke scuffled backwards, dizzy with the sudden movement as the door opened just enough for a familiar figure to stumble out. Even with the puffy disfiguration of radiation burns over his cheeks and arms, the glare of hatred was all too familiar and Clarke struggled to her feet quickly.

“Wait, Murphy…”

With a feral growl deep from his chest, Murphy charged. They landed heavily, sending a swirl of fine ash into the air. Murphy’s fingers pressed deeply into Clarke’s neck, searching for her airway or artery. Clarke kept her palms thrust up, one against Murphy’s shoulder and one in his face.

“Murphy, please,” she strained. “Please, I’m so sorry!”

“Shut the hell up!” he screamed, voice cracking with the effort. His thumbs dug viciously into her windpipe. Clarke finally managed to get her knee up hard into the small of his back, making him flinch just enough for her to cough and breathe again.

Murphy tried to bite her hand, but she wrenched him away, leaving deep scratches across his cheek and chin. “Murphy, we need each other,” Clarke croaked. “Don’t you get it? We’re alone! Just stop!”

As suddenly as he’d started the fight, Murphy stopped. He rolled off of her deftly, leaving Clarke sucking in deep breaths. Her throat was tight and she didn’t dare reach up and feel what sort of marks he’d left.

Murphy stood with arms crossed, black blood welling up in the scratches on his face. Contemptuous.

"You’re right,” he said, deadpan. “We are alone.”

He slowly turned to view the desolation that was once Earth. Murky twilight pressed in on the two, leaving them a small island in the midst of a vast emptiness.

Murphy’s voice sounded very far away. “Dying alone would suck.”

Clarke wanted to respond, but all she managed was a painful cough.

Murphy finally turned back to her and she felt a wave of horror as she realized he was smiling manically. “That’s what you deserve, Clarke. A slow, painful, lonely death. I won’t take that away from you.”

Then he started walking away.

Clarke floundered for a minute. It took her two attempts to get to her feet and by then Murphy was a good ways away, walking across what used to be flowing water.

“Wait!” she managed to shout. The sound hung in the thick darkness.

“Where are you going?”

Murphy paused, but didn’t look back. “To find my own spot.”

Clarke stumbled forward. “For what?”

“To die.”

It was just the grief talking. Murphy would never sit down and wait for death. No matter how much he wanted to.

But something about the glint in his eyes scared her. More than the bruises on her neck and more than the blood still running freely down his chin. Too much like the blood spilling from Emori’s mouth.

So Clarke followed. Every once in a while, he glanced over his shoulder at her. Sometimes he quickened his pace until she couldn’t suck in enough air to keep up with him and then he would slow his steps again and shoot an empty grin in her direction. She knew she deserved it, however small a torture it was.

They walked through the night. Sometimes the wind stirred up roughly enough to almost knock them off their feet. Other times the air was so still it felt like walls closing around them. Clarke resisted the urge to take sips of water from her canteen, knowing that soon enough they would need to ration every drop. She tried to work out rationing plans as they walked, but her brain was swimming in a constant fog, only interrupted by jolts of pain from her various injuries. She finally gave up and let herself stumble along in a trance.

It was several hours later when Clarke’s foot caught on something, sending her sprawling. She spat out a mixture of ash and sand and looked behind her. In the dim light she recognized the rounded tip of a familiar stone peeking up from the dune. Sudden realization cleared her head.

“Murphy!”

He paused, probably out of shock rather than any obligation.

“The Rover is here!” she exclaimed. She started digging around the landmark stone with both hands, ignoring the way the grains pricked at her hands like glass.

“We can dig it out!”

Murphy walked slowly back to her and watched with dull eyes as she dug with reckless abandon.

“Help me!”

“What’s the point?” he asked. He seated himself a few steps away and continued to stare at her.

Clarke’s adrenaline was spiking so she ignored him. She scooped up handful after handful of fine glassy sand, wincing at the tiny cuts in her palms. The sun began to rise, but the air remained dull and grey and too still.

By the time Clarke wedged the door open and squeezed behind the wheel, she was sweating despite the odd chill that clung to her skin. But she could have cried tears of relief when she managed to get the engine started. It sputtered a few times, spitting out sand, but chugged to life obligingly. Murphy continued to stare disinterestedly.

Clarke took a break and a bite of a food bar. The MREs had very little flavor, but the way the bite settled in her empty stomach made her want to devour the entire bar. Instead, mouth watering, she broke off another chunk and carried it and her canteen over to Murphy.

“Here.”

He glared at the supplies. “No thanks.”

Clarke grit her teeth together. “You need to eat.”

He gave her a lazy half eyeroll. “There’s no point. Give it up and just die already.”

Clarke slapped the piece of food into his lap and stalked back to the car. “Hurry up. We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Polis.” She slammed the door shut.

* * *

Somehow Clarke managed to get Murphy into the Rover. She wasn’t sure in the end if her alternating between gentle coaxing and indignant fury won him over or if he was just bored of picking at his wounds. Either way, he ended up sprawled in the back seat and he even took a mouthful of water. Clarke tried to ignore his occasional snide remark about the bumps in the road.

They reached Polis sometime in the afternoon. Even Murphy was silent as Clarke slowly maneuvered through the ruins. Buildings that once stood three or more stories high were gone. New streets were formed by fallen walls and the arching remnants of rooftops. The dust churned up by the slow revolving of their tires seemed to barely lift from the ground before settling silently back to earth.

The tower was fully collapsed. Clarke led them straight down the path that once led through the Flamekeepers’ sanctuary, only to find herself stopped by mountains of broken masonry. Murphy hung back a few paces, eyes wide.

Clarke set her jaw. “Okay, then. First things first, we need to clear some of this stuff away.”

“Excuse me?”

She whipped her head around to stare at Murphy who was shaking his head at her incredulously. “What?”

He gave her a tiny shrug, his trademark annoying smirk finally dancing on his lips. “You seriously think I’m going to put any effort into uncovering that bunker? Even if we had a hundred years and a hundred shovels, we’d never dig it out.”

Clarke swallowed her anger, trying to think of a retort, but Murphy turned away casually.

“Besides, they might welcome the Princess back, but no one wants me around. Might as well just get comfy out here.”

Clarke watched him walk back to the Rover with a sickening feeling in her stomach. The pile that was once Lexa’s home taunted her and she knew he was right. But she was Clarke Griffin, so she had to try anyways.

It took several hours, but Clarke finally collapsed on the verge of tears, realizing there was nothing she could do. After pulling out a piece of Lexa’s old throne, her shocked grief made her hesitate long enough to almost disappear under the miniature avalanche she caused. Whatever progress made towards the bunker was lost.

Nagging laughter rang out from behind her and she wiped her hand roughly across her face, willing the tears not to fall.

Murphy walked forward, shadow long in the angry red sunset. He clapped slowly, the soft echoes rebounding from the rubble on all sides.

“Fantastic job today, Princess. What a great show.”

Clarke got to her feet and glared at him. For all his bravado he looked pale and drawn. She stomped back to the Rover and hoisted herself in bodily. She grabbed a chunk of food and the canteen and swallowed her dinner hurriedly, not giving herself time to process the taste or feel. Murphy slid into the seat next to her.

“Ooh, that’s right. Ration it like a good little girl. Make that starvation go on and on…”

She practically threw the canteen at him. “Drink,” she bit out.

He laughed again, but he took a sip languidly.

Clarke took a deep breath, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel and trying desperately to think through her options. Food, water, shelter. It was dizzying and her thoughts spiraled out of control.

Finally she turned her head to glance at Murphy who had his feet kicked up on the dash carelessly.

“Where to next?” she asked, trying not to let her weariness creep into her voice.

From the smug look on his face, she didn’t succeed.

"Sightseeing?” he suggested. She groaned and banged her head gently on the wheel. He giggled, which was so unlike him that she almost made him drink another sip of water.

Instead, she threw the Rover into gear and began to reverse carefully out of their tight parking spot. The red-grey light flickered off of the exposed solar panels as she begrudgingly left Polis behind.

* * *

Arkadia was a graveyard; in every sense of the word. Clarke recognized bits and pieces of bone among the wreckage. People who might have died in the first wave of black rain. Or maybe some of Jasper’s party who had used one last burst of energy to crawl outside before they fell into their deep sleep.

Murphy nudged the charred remnants of a tibia with his toe. “They were the smart ones after all,” he said. Clarke raised her eyebrows at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. His lips tightened and he kicked the bone hard, sending it sailing into the air and clanging down against the ship.

“Come on. There might be salvage inside,” Clarke said. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up to her and at the very least there would be some flat floor space to lay down on inside.

The inside of the ship was surprisingly intact, considering the damage Illian left in his wake. Whole areas of the ship stood practically untouched, while others were blackened beyond recognition. Clarke was glad to see that the main room had been scorched down to the metal plating. She wasn’t sure if she could have handled the sight of the suicide pact aftermath.

Murphy was quiet, letting his fingers trail along the walls as they slowly explored. They turned wordlessly down a hallway that led to several bedrooms and entered the first one. Although the room hadn’t been burnt, the walls were riddled with faults and fractures and ash coated everything. Murphy coughed and pulled his shirt collar up over his mouth as their footsteps disturbed the silt.

Clarke hunched over the table, quickly sorting through the mostly ruined objects on top. The only thing that seemed worth exploring was a sturdy lockbox. A few hard knocks at the lock and she was able to wrest the box open. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and prayed that by some miracle it was food.

Instead, as she swung the lid open she was greeted with a crisp white envelope and a pair of familiar goggles.

Clarke picked up the goggles, hand trembling. Murphy stood stock still. The wind began to pick up outside and the air grew cold.

Murphy wet his lips with his tongue. “I really was going to kill him, you know?”

Clarke blinked at him, uncomprehending.

"At the dropship after he was speared,” Murphy elaborated tonelessly. He lifted his hand as if he were going to illustrate a point, but then let it fall limply back to his side. “I was going to kill him,” he finished weakly.

Clarke realized she was crying. “And I was going to save him.”

“So we’re both failures,” Murphy said lowly. She jerked her head up to meet his eyes, but there was no glint of malice this time. He looked away quickly.

Clarke slowly slid to the floor, hugging her knees. The goggles dangled from her hand, swinging gently.

"We’re all that’s left,” she whispered.

Murphy sat heavily, coughing again as the dust mushroomed around him.

“Damned survival instinct, huh?”

Clarke wiped her eyes and screwed up her face as she found herself torn between laughing and crying. Murphy snorted.

“You look like a drunken Jaha when you do that.”

“Do what?!”

“You know! That face when he thinks he’s the smartest man to ever live ever. Except drunk.” Murphy tilted his head and curled his mouth upwards into an exaggerated pout.

Clarke tried not to laugh, but it all came out her nose in an ugly snort .

Murphy screwed up his face in disgust and that made Clarke laugh and cry all over again.

* * *

The dim morning light brought no signs of food or water, but Clarke finally managed to fiddle enough with the transmitter in the Rover that she got it to tune into the Ark-wide channel. Relief flooded through her as it clicked from static into the space of the open channel.

“Bellamy? Come in, Bellamy! Are you there?”

She let go of the button and was rewarded with a few long moments of silence. She took a deep breath before diving back in.

“Raven? Ark Station? Please come in, Ark Station.”

The light grew a little stronger as she continued to hail the Ark with no response. She tried to calm the fluttering in her heart. It probably was fine. Anything could be blocking the signal. Or the equipment on the Ring might be too heavily damaged. Or any number of other things.

Maybe they could hear her, but not respond.

The thought made her get comfortable sitting cross legged on the Rover seat as she realized that she should probably update them, just in case.

She talked easily about what had happened so far, glossing over her despair about Polis and Jasper. She skipped the fight with Murphy entirely. And she realized as she talked for a good half hour that she was mostly talking to Bellamy. If she closed her eyes, it was like he was sitting beside her, listening and nodding along. Even smiling at a couple parts.

It almost made her forget about the ache in her dusty throat.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Clarke opened her eyes to find Murphy staring at her with a cross between disbelief and disgust. She clamped down her automatic anger at being interrupted and instead held the transmitter out to him.

“They’re not responding, but they might be able to hear us,” she said. “Do you want to talk to anyone.”

Murphy grunted and rolled his eyes. “You’re delusional.”

Clarke nodded towards where her finger was still pressed on the button. “And now they all just heard you say that.”

Murphy rolled his eyes again, but he took the transmitter from her.

“Hey, Monty. I bet the algae sucks.”

* * *

They left Arkadia eventually. There was nothing left but ghosts. Nothing left to do but drive.

The rain caught them off guard one night and they ended up spinning in circles and actually laughing together as they drank it in open-mouthed. It tasted bitter, too warm, and perfect.

The bugs were an even better surprise. Clarke drove into a swarm of them, promptly smashing dozens of carcasses on the windshield and grill. Murphy didn’t even protest when she started shoving them into her mouth eagerly. This time, he was right alongside her.

The bruises on Clarke’s neck faded, but the eerie light in Murphy’s eyes remained.

Sometimes wind storms crept up with no warning, forcing them to take shelter in the Rover. Dust blew in sheets so thick it was impossible to see. Shards of glass whipped through the winds and sliced any exposed skin. They hunkered in the dark, mostly silent, sometimes talking.

They never talked about Emori. Clarke couldn’t find the words or the courage.

The solar panels on the Rover shattered during a storm. Murphy leaned back sullenly, arms crossed, as Clarke consulted her map.

“We should be able to reach the solar fields and get back if we just don’t stop walking,” she finally said half-heartedly. It was a very poor chance and they both knew it.

Murphy scoffed. “It’s over, Clarke. Don’t you get it?”

Clarke bit her lip. “Stop. We haven’t died yet.”

“But we will. We deserve to.”

“Stop!” she yelled. Murphy stopped, lip curled derisively.

“We’re going out there and we’re going now,” she finished. This time she was the one who started walking without looking back, lifting her knees high to step through small dunes of ash.

Murphy followed her at a distance, getting slower and slower as they wandered into the desert.

Clarke lost track of the hours and the days. The sun marched up and down more than once and her lips were so cracked that they were seeping blood. The heat rising up from the desert sand was unbearable, but so was the thought of standing for even one more second.

She heard a soft thump behind her and turned around, squinting in the off-colored sunlight.

Murphy lay flat on his back, arms spread at disjointed angles.

“Murphy?” she managed to rasp. She struggled back towards him, feeling like every step backwards was a million steps.

“Murphy?”

His eyes were open, but he didn’t look at her. He blew out a long breath and just stared into the burning sky.

“Murphy, get up.”

“No.”

Clarke couldn’t stand it. “Get up, now.”

“I said, no.”

She tried to grab his arms, but he kicked her away and she was too weak to fight. Instead she fell in an undignified heap next to him.

The sand was so very hot.

“We have to keep going. Can’t give up…”

“Spare me,” Murphy spat. The venom lent a new energy to his voice. “There’s nothing left to go on for and we both know it. Now just lay down and die already.”

“No. No, we can’t.”

“Actually we can. And we are right now.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” she coughed.

“Whatever sort of savior act you have going on, it ends now,” Murphy said, ignoring her. “You think trying to protect me, getting me to eat and drink and follow you around is going to make up for what you did to Emori?”

His words cut like a sword. Visions came rushing back, mixing with the violent spots dancing in her eyes. Black blood, Emori’s eyes, her scream. One mangled hand grasping desperately at a restraint rope.

“Nothing will ever make me forgive you. If you really cared you would have protected Emori a long time ago.”

He sounded like he was crying but his cheeks were dry.

Clarke stared up at the sky and for the first time, wished for death.

Her fingers found the gun at her waist almost of their own accord. She slid it across the sand to Murphy. He started and then instinctively wrapped his fingers around it, sitting up just slightly to stare at her.

“You’re right,” she said, creakily. “So just do it. Kill me, please.”

She laid her head back down and closed her eyes. Tried to hold a picture of Bellamy in her head to drown out the nightmares.

A moment passed. Then another. Clarke opened her eyes blearily and found Murphy cradling the gun, face contorted in pain, rocking back and forth.

“Murphy?”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he screamed hoarsely. He shot upright and threw the gun. It skidded across the dune, leaving a small trail in the sand.

He spun on her with a snarl. “Not like this. It can’t be like this,” he spat. “So get the hell up.”

He didn’t offer to help her up, but Clarke found herself compelled to haul herself up anyways.

Then they saw the bird.

Some sort of vulture, Clarke would guess. Murphy’s eyes widened and he scrabbled for the gun. They were both running, shedding layers of coats and packs as they went. Their boots dug hard into the sand as they topped one dune and slid down the other side. Then they were struggling up the next one. Sprinting in sand was hard enough. After days without food and water, Clarke felt like her muscles were going to dissolve with every step. But she kept dogged pace with Murphy as they topped one more dune.

Spread out before them was the most delicious oasis of green she’d ever laid eyes on. It was better than coming to earth for the first time. It was better than the rain or the bugs.

The vulture circled and landed in the uppermost branches of a tree, squawking at the pair.

“Thank you,” Clarke whispered.

And then as if reading her mind, Murphy leveled the gun at the bird and shot.

* * *

Flowers still grew in Shallow Valley. River water still ran. Birds flitted here and there.

Clarke and Murphy walked through the green in a daze, feeding on the aliveness more than the vulture meat.

The first time Clarke dunked herself in the river, she started giggling and couldn’t stop.

The first time they found a field of berries, Murphy stuffed his face until red smeared from his lips up past his nose.

They found the Grounder village of Louwoda Klironkru. Praimfaya left the entire valley untouched, but radiation was not so kind. It took them a full day to burn the bodies. Clarke once caught Murphy gently caressing a woman with a disfigured ear, an imperfection small enough she must have been able to hide it. He didn’t say a word for two days after.

They fell into an unconscious rhythm. They rarely spoke, but they made the village into a home of sorts. They gathered berries and painstakingly built traps for small animals and spears for fishing. Every evening as the sun set, Clarke set up her radio and told Bellamy everything. And every evening, Murphy sat nearby and listened. Sometimes, he picked it up after she was done and talked to Raven or Monty. The sunsets weren’t as harsh filtered through the green canopy and the silence between the two slowly grew more comfortable. Even if the pain lingered.

But then there were days where Murphy came back so full of bruises that Clarke bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. Days when she pushed handfuls of berries into his face to get him to eat. Days when he lay in bed without moving at all.

After a longer stint where Murphy consistently appeared at sunset covered in blood, Clarke decided to follow him on one of his fishing excursions. Even keeping a careful distance, it proved impossible to hide from the only other person on earth.

“What do you want?” he snapped. He was balanced precariously on a slick boulder near midstream. Clarke knew from experience that there was better fishing in the shallow water on the other side. She winced as his foot slipped dangerously close to the edge.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” she said gently.

Murphy tossed his spear carelessly into the water and yelled a string of profanity when it hit nothing but sand. He leapt from his perch, landing hard in the waist deep water and rolling ungracefully over one shoulder.

“Murphy!” Clarke was halfway into the river before she could think, death flashing before her eyes. Murphy’s body joining the pyre of a hundred burning grounders. Sunset colors flickering off the hood of the Rover as she sat alone. Emori’s mouth stretched in a silent scream.

“Get off of me!” Murphy screamed. He bolted upright, water streaming down his shoulders. His face was dark, the light in his eyes snuffed out.

Clarke cowered, stumbling and falling back into the shallows with an awkward splash. “I was just…”

“I don’t need you!” he screamed. His voice thundered through the ravine, scaring a lone bird into flight. “I don’t want you! You’re a murderer! You killed her! You killed her!”

He grasped for his spear and took another step towards Clarke. She crawled backwards, hands scraping along the pebbled beach.

“You took everything from me, even death,” Murphy growled.

“I’m…”

“I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want your protection. I don’t want your berries and your radio calls. I only wanted her. Don’t you get it? Don’t you get it?!” His voice rose in a frenzied howl as he brought the spear down towards her throat.

Instinct kicked in and suddenly there was no Murphy, only a spear and the sound of her pulse echoing in her ears. Clarke rolled to her right, kicking up a spray of sand and water as she went. Murphy lunged forward, gasping as sand met his eyes. The spear plunged deep into the ground where Clarke’s throat had been a fraction of a second earlier. Clarke rolled to a crouch and darted for the spear. Murphy, with one hand still rubbing at his eyes, stumbled forward with a snarl, but Clarke got there first. She yanked at the shaft of wood enough so that the butt caught solidly on Murphy’s chest. He staggered backwards, balance made worse on the rocky riverbed. Clarke whirled, eyes flashing. One hefty kick sent Murphy sprawling backwards, clouding the water as he stirred up mud. Clarke wasted no time pinning him down with her foot to his shoulder, as she held the spear tip to his throat.

A light flickered in Murphy’s eyes.

“Coward. You won’t do it. You can’t kill people like this. You have to hide behind your mommy and Bellamy…”

Clarke pressed the point a little deeper and a trickle of dark blood dripped into the shallows. Murphy chuckled.

“Is that all you’ve got, Wanheda. Can the Commander of Death only kill innocent girls…”

“I can kill whoever I want!” Clarke roared. She drove her full weight down on his shoulder, drawing out a muffled groan.

“Yes, I killed Emori!” Clarke screamed. “I dream about it every night. I’ll dream about it until the day I die. And I’ll hate myself for longer than that!”

She stomped down viciously again.

“I killed her and because of that we got to live!”

“Don’t,” Murphy warned softly. Dangerously. But Clarke was past listening.

“You know it’s true. You’ve known it since you woke up in that lighthouse. Alive. Breathing.” She took a harsh breath. “Emori died so you could live.”

“Float you!”

“You know it’s true!” she screamed. “So shut the hell up and live!”

She threw the spear into the river and sloshed back to shore. Murphy rolled to his feet slowly.

“I should kill you,” he said roughly.

“Do it,” she spat. “Or do you have to wait until I’m asleep first?”

Murphy turned abruptly and started walking along the river away from Clarke and the village.

As he faded into the tree line, Clarke couldn’t bring herself to care. Months of festering anger bubbled at the back of her throat. The feeling of bruises long since healed, ghosted across her neck.

She snarled and stomped back to the village. Alone.

Emori’s face assaulted her anytime she closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember Bellamy’s eyes or Raven’s smile. No defense left against the ruthless guilt.

She could remember Murphy’s eyes. Flat when they found Jasper’s goggles. Bright in the rain. She could remember his smile, painted with berry juice. Wide and laughing at her as she struggled to keep them alive.

She grabbed one of her drawing books and started sketching frantically. She tried to draw her mom and Kane, Bellamy and Raven, Monty and Harper. But every sketch turned into Murphy. Murphy glaring at her with disdain when she offered him water. Murphy propping his feet up on the dash. Murphy in sunset colors with the radio close to his mouth.

Emori started to appear in the drawings. Emori with her tattoo swirling up her cheekbone like smoke. Emori smiling as Murphy cooked in Becca’s kitchen. Emori chained to the rocket while Murphy tried to shield her with his anger.

No radiation chamber. No blood.

She drew until the sunset started to turn the world red and her neck hurt from being hunched over for so long. Out of habit she made her way to the Rover and grabbed the radio.

She talked for twenty minutes, restlessly. Waited for Murphy to emerge from the trees. The sun painted Shallow Valley rosy gold, fading into violet stripes, then twilight green and then there was nothing.

A cricket chirped from somewhere behind her as she shut the radio off.

The walk back to the huts was harder than walking through the desert.

“Hello?” As she swung open the door to their hut, the breeze caught her papers and sent some of them swirling.

“No, no, no,” Clarke muttered. She half ran to gather them up in her arms. Dozens of drawings of Murphy and Emori.

“Hello?” she called again. “Murphy?”

She already knew he wasn’t there.

She hung up the drawings, clipping them to streamers hanging from the rafters. They danced and swayed as she lit a fire and curled up on her cot.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Clarke was sitting on the table where they gutted fish, dragging her toes aimlessly through the morning dewdrops when Murphy walked up and stood across from her. They stared at each other, letting the silence speak for them.

Murphy took a breath. “I don’t want your apologies. And I won’t just forgive and forget. But she wanted me to survive. She even said…” He choked and cleared his throat roughly. His eyes were rimmed in red. “She wanted me to survive,” he simply repeated.

Clarke nodded slowly, clenching her fists loosely. Thinking about death and life and the strange middle ground that was surviving. And all the strength in her that wanted to just stop being and let her die, but never ever would.

“Damned survival instinct,” she finally said.

Murphy blinked and then a small familiar smirk danced at the corner of his lips. “Damned survival instinct.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for The Chopped 100 Fanfic Challenge Round 1.
> 
> The theme for this round was Canon Divergence and each fic was required to include the tropes:
> 
> • Somebody lives . . . or somebody dies  
• Protectiveness  
• Sunsets  
• A Dichotomy
> 
> There were also two bonus categories:
> 
> • Most unique pairing  
• Best platonic pairing


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